


Sand and Sun

by djemsostylist (Eleai)



Series: The Illusion of Day--A Prequel AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleai/pseuds/djemsostylist
Summary: When the war comes, he is called back.  He was never a farmer.





	Sand and Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of my prequel AU. Anakin, after the massacre of the Tusken Raiders, left the Jedi Order for 7 years. During this time he has lived with his brother, Owen, on his moisture farm on Tatooine. At the start of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan comes to bring him back.

The speeder is familiar only in its unfamiliarity.  The Lars homestead’s remote location isn't exactly conducive to frequent visitors, so unfamiliar speeders usually mean official business, which is rare enough as it is.  The speeder is a rental, clearly, marks and scuffs not quite buffed out, fading seats and dusty floor boards visible through the greasy windows.  He can't discern anything about its business from the way it's parked innocuously at his front door, but there's something about it that makes him feel uneasy.  

The stranger in his kitchen is, at first, as unfamiliar as the speeder parked out front, but when his eyes adjust to the muted light he recognizes the tall boots and the dusty brown cloak, and the way he sits, right hand loose against his thigh, chair tilted just enough that he can clear the ‘saber just visible at his belt without carving the table in two.  

His headache, dull and pounding from the heat and the acrid smoke of the broken droid Anakin couldn't fix, intensifies, a sharp stab of pain that terminates behind his left eye.  Beru is at the opposite end of the table, and she meets his gaze across the room silently.  

"Kenobi", he says quietly, "you should go."

The man turns then, just a slight movement of his body, and Owen meets his eyes.  "Owen Lars," he says, and his voice is smooth and low and gentle, and his eyes are calm.  "It's been a long time."

"Seven years," he says darkly, "and it's not been long enough."  

Kenobi doesn't respond, and his expression gives nothing away, open and soft, brow furrowed the slightest bit.  Owen feels suddenly, overwhelming exhausted, and he's halfway tempted to just grab a drink and the small bottle of pills Beru stores above the sink and go to bed and hope that when he wakes up the mirage in his kitchen is gone.  It's only when he feels the bite the of his nails against his palm that he realizes he's clenched his fists.  Damned Jedi.

He moves past his chair and further into the kitchen, cool air from the overhead fan stirring the light hairs on his forehead, but it does nothing to soothe the pain in his head.  Kenobi doesn't move, and nothing in his face changes, but Owen feels a slight pressure in his head before his headache eases, just a little, and the glare he sends Kenbi is obvious.   _ Back off. _

The silence continues, and he feels Beru stand, but whatever she says is too low for him to catch and he only realizes she's left the room when he finally settles into her seat.  He knows why Kenobi's here.  There was never any question as to why he would come here, but Owen isn't ready for this.  It's only been seven years, and when he'd last seen Kenobi he'd been promised never.  

"I'm here for Anakin," Kenobi says, and Owen wonders if that slow, quiet way of talking is something they teach at the Academy, or if Kenobi 's air of quiet understanding is just for him.  Owen can count on his hand the number of conversations he's had with the man, and each one has always followed the same path.

It's the wording that gets him.  He'd figured, once he realized who the speeder belonged to, that Kenobi was here to talk to Anakin.  He might have promised never, but Owen always sort of figured that Jedi might be more capable of breaking their word than they liked to let on.  He's been anticipating this, if he's being honest, but he'd expected more people, an earnest plea to listen to reason and return to the fold.  But this isn't a plea, and Kenobi hasn't come here to argue his side.  He's come to  _ collect  _ Anakin, to take him with him, and Owen's spent the past seven years trying to help his brother live, and he'll be damned if he lets it all end that easily. 

"No," Owen says, and it comes out harsh and far, far more heated than he'd like (and he curses the fact that Kenobi can look so  _ calm _ right now), "Anakin told you, seven years ago, that he was done.  With you, with the Jedi, with all of it.  And you promised, you swore you'd stay away, that you'd never ask and I  _ thought _ ," he says this with as much emphasis as he can "I  _ thought _ that Jedi kept their word." 

"We do," Kenobi says, and his eyes look sad and understanding and even though Owen is younger by only a few years, he suddenly feels impossibly small under his gaze.  It does nothing to quell whatever emotion is stirring in his gut (and he's not sure if its anger or fear or something combined but it doesn't help his headache).  

"We do," Kenobi continues, "but this isn't about the Jedi, and it's not about me.  It's about Anakin, about the destiny-"

Owen cuts him off.  "Destiny?  Right," he scoffs, "I forgot.  He's your chosen one or something, right?  Born to balance out your force, make the darkness go away?"  He sounds bitter, but he's never believed in destinies shaped by a force outside of his control, and he's lived long enough to know that the only path in life is the one you forge yourself.  Anakin's Force never had a place in this world, and he's not ready to start letting it have one now.  

"It's far more complicated than that," Kenobi explains, and he looks tired now, eyes hooded and distant, "but there is a war coming, and something else, something dark and terrible and Anakin is at the heart of it, I know that much."  He pauses and glances away for a moment, head tilted slightly like he can hear something just out of range.  

"Anakin has nothing to do with that life.  He made that perfectly clear many years ago, and he's got a new life here, now.  He's spent the past seven years picking up the pieces of himself that broke while he was with you, and I'll be damned if I let him go back to that.  You told me once the Jedi might not be enough for him.  That there was nothing that said being a Jedi would be the cure for whatever it is that haunts him.  Well I know what haunts him, and I know what road he walks.  I won't see him go back there again."

Kenobi's weary gaze is focused on Owen, blue eyes sad.  "I know what I said.  But things are different now, and seven years is far longer than you'd think.  I know what I promised Anakin, and I know what I promised you.  I," and here he hesitates, eyes skittering away across the table for a moment, and then he meets Owen's gaze again, "I care about him and I wouldn't have come here if I could have helped it.  But this, whatever this thing is that's coming, this is what Anakin was  _ born  _ for. Not farming on some backwater planet at the end of the galaxy.  It's killing him, slowly, and I know you don't want to see it but I--"

"Out," Owen says and his voice is quieter than Kenobi's.  "Get out, before he comes back.  You're not welcome in my home and I should have been clearer about that from the beginning.  Get.  Out."  

He's standing now, breathing harshly, and he's never felt like this.  It's not anger, the feeling curdling in his gut.  Its fear, cold and startlingly clear.  Not for himself.  For his brother.  

Kenobi rises too, but it's slower and softer, and dammit, he's still so calm.  "Thank you," he says, voice low, eyes steady on Owen, back straight, and palms open.  He doesn't say what he's thankful for, but Owen knows.  For Anakin.  For helping to pick up the pieces.  For giving him a life.  For giving him a family.  For giving him a chance at something.  

He doesn't acknowledge him.  He doesn't need his thanks, sands know, because he didn't do it for him.  He needs him gone, away from here before Anakin gets home because he knows how this ends if Anakin finds him here.  He doesn't need to be a Jedi to see the future.  

There's movement in the shadows behind Kenobi's shoulder, and the entryway to the kitchen darkens.  His brother has always been a big man, but in the small doorway, Anakin looms even larger.  

"Owen," he says softly, and even though his eyes don't move from Kenobi's, Owen can feel Anakin's gaze and nothing else needs to be said.  Anakin's known Obi-Wan was here probably before Owen did, probably knew he was coming, and it's over.  He's not a Jedi, but he has always known when to stop fighting. 

* * *

He's not sure what wakes him, some hours later; the house is dark and quiet, and Beru is sleeping next to him, but there is a feeling in his chest he can't explain.  His footsteps take him not down the hall, but out, across the courtyard where he can see, for a moment before he steps back inside, the stars, bright and burning and merciless.  

Anakin is the garage, with two small bags by his feet, and a third on the workbench, half packed.  He's sitting on the edge of the bench that runs along the wall, but unlike most times Owen finds him here, he's not tinkering with anything.  The garage is silent, save for the soft whirring of the generator and the rhythmic ticking of the recharge station in the corner.  Anakin is fully dressed, and Owen doubts he even tried to sleep.  

"Thought you gave that back."  His voice is loud in the silence, and Anakin shrugs.  

"I did."  He twirls the saber in his hands, once, twice, silver casing flashing in the dim light overhead.  

"You're leaving."  It's not a question, and Owen doesn't need an answer.  He had it the moment Anakin walked into the kitchen.  The packed bags and lightsaber are superfluous confirmation.  

Anakin doesn't say anything, and Own settles next to him on the bench.  There isn't anything to be said, really, that hasn't already been spoken.  Seven years is a long time to spend with someone, and they know each other better now than they had then, when Anakin had whispered his guilt in the darkness and Owen had offered him a chance.  

"I'll come back," Anakin says softly, "when it's over.  Wars do end."

The fear in his heart blocks his throat, and he can't speak around the tightness in his chest, so he nods, swallows, and tries to believe.  "Yeah well," he says gruffly, "we're not going anywhere.  So, you know, whenever."  

Light is just breaking over the edge of the horizon when Anakin places the last bag into the back of the speeder.  Silhouetted against the rising suns, he's not the boy who came to him seven years ago, lanky and broken and mourning.  The sun flares off the windshield, and blinds him, and for a moment Anakin is clothed only in blackness, an indistinct form on the edge of his vision and Owen knows, somehow, that this is the last time he will see his brother alive.  

The dust from the speeder whips against his face, and he closes his eyes against the twin powers of sand and sun.  All Tatooine has to offer.  When he opens them again, Anakin is gone.  


End file.
